Sparks
by SiobhanP
Summary: Mimi doesn't remember meeting Mark for the first time, but she remembers the night she got to know him like it was yesterday.


Mimi doesn't remember meeting Mark the first time, but she remembers the night she got to know him like it happened yesterday. It was actually a long time before she met Roger, and Mark's conflicted feelings about his roommate are quite possibly what brought he and Mimi together. Mimi had just finished a later shift than usual at The Cat Scratch, and Mark had been there at Collins' behest. Taking care of Roger had more than taken its toll, and Collins saw it. Collins' answer to Mark's heartsickness over Maureen and Roger was to thrust a fifty into his hand and tell him to go have fun while he watched Roger. Collins had prefaced it by saying he knew it wouldn't fix his bigger problems, but he wouldn't so much as consider either letting Mark return the money or stay in the loft, so Mark had obliged him under duress.

It led to him sitting at the bar at The Cat Scratch, somewhat drunk and avoiding the attentions of a particularly persistent dancer. Mimi sauntered out of the backstage area in her street clothes just in time to see the girl – one she didn't have much use for, which probably contributed to her anger – spin Mark's stool around and plant her legs around his waist, bracing her hands against the bar to keep them upright when Mark did everything in his inebriated power to escape her short of actually telling her no. Mimi recognized him and knew him to be a pleasant sort of person, which she thinks is another reason she did what she did.

She made her way over to the bar purposefully. The other dancer noticed her, and Mimi shot her the dirtiest look she could muster. It was clear she'd seen it, but she didn't move, just kept purring into Mark's ear while he squirmed and stuttered and turned red, his eyes darting back and forth in a panicked way. He caught sight of Mimi, slowly remembered who she was through his drunken haze, and looked at her, mouthing her name pleadingly.

"He's not fucking interested, Virtue," Mimi snapped once she felt she'd given the other girl sufficient time to react to her warning. "I suggest you leave it at that if you want to keep your job."

She got up and stormed away huffily without another word, glaring daggers at both Mimi and Mark as she retreated. Mimi sighed, shook her head, and sat down on the stool beside him.

"Two of the strongest stuff you've got, Shana," she told the bartender tiredly. The two shot glasses were produced almost automatically, and she slid one in front of Mark before she spoke to him. "Sorry 'bout her, uhm…" Mimi paused, her eyes fluttering around the room uncertainly. They stopped and Mark's heart fluttered a little in his chest when she met his eyes confidently, guessing, "Mark, right?" She smiled brightly, and Mark, like Roger would, thought of April with a pang.

He blustered awkwardly, not touching the drink in front of him. He got out more than one actual word, but none of them strung together. Mimi laughed.

"I don't bite," she promised him playfully. She swallowed her whiskey and gestured for a refill before she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Mark chuckled and smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "What, a guy can't have a night out on the town?" he joked halfheartedly.

"Believe me, if I thought you were enjoying it I wouldn't have bothered you. But if that wasn't what you were looking for…" she trailed off. She wasn't sure exactly how prudish Mark was, and some men, even in strip clubs, were quick to get offended by the notion of their being in any way "perverted." It didn't seem a likely problem, she thought he was probably just timid and upset over something else, and usually she didn't care much about offending people's sensibilities, but Mark looked like he was having a rough night.

He shrugged, finally wrapping a hand around the shot glass, though he didn't drink. "My friend made me go out," he explained, seeming not to care how strange it sounded. "He was just worried about me, s'all."

Mimi noticed his slur and felt compelled to catch up. She drank two more shots, this time brandy, before she probed further. "Why's that, honey?" she was talking to him like she would a client, but it was out of habit. If her clients were all like Mark, she'd probably talk to them differently to begin with.

Mark eyed her with trepidation before bringing the shot glass to his lips and downing its contents so quickly the cup clanged when he set it back on the bar. "Just my roommate," he explained a little breathlessly, "and my girl… ex-girlfriend. Roger needs a lot of attention lately. Maureen always thinks she does. Not a good arrangement."

"You have a roommate?" Mimi blurted in surprise, and felt stupid the moment she said it. That obviously wasn't what he needed to talk about, and that was why she was telling herself she was here.

"The infamous Roger Davis," Mark said wryly. "Gone reclusive, if you can fucking believe it." He groaned and rolled his head from side to side, stretching his neck. "God, I better slow down. Stick some coke in the booze this time, would you please?" he asked the bartender, handing her his glass.

Mimi was surprised, but not too much, when she thought about it. She hadn't known Roger, and she'd never seen the girl (April, she'd learn later) in her life, but everybody, not least of all Mimi, who lived below them, seemed to know something of the tragic tale of The Well Hungarians' Roger Davis. Mimi hadn't seen him in more than six months, yet he'd been living in her building the entire time. She knew the parts about his girlfriend's suicide were true; she knew the parts about heroin were true, she'd seen him at her dealer. If the talk of HIV or manic depression or various ailments were erroneous, still, Mimi thought, if Mark was as much responsible for Roger's well-being as he seemed to be, it'd be a damn stressful position to be in. A position that wouldn't be worth it to many people. She'd liked Mark before, now she found she respected him on those grounds alone.

There seemed to be nothing to say about Roger, though, so Mimi tried a different angle. "What about your girlfriend?"

"Said I spent too much time with Roger," Mark shrugged, his voice indicating he knew there was some truth to it. "But he needs me. Maureen never did. Cheated on me from the start, then left for some lawyer named Joanne."

Mimi didn't think she was right, but she had to ask, "Did she have any good reason? I understand that your roommate needs you around right now, but if you were lovers or something," Mimi knew she might be crossing a line, but it was the impression she'd gotten, "then that's something else completely."

"What?" Mark blurted, "No! I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that; fuck, with Roger it was as much guys as girls, besides April, but it's just not… it wouldn't…"

"You don't swing that way?" Mimi offered, amused.

Mark's blush was enough to tell her that not even that was true, but he was honest anyway. "No," he sighed, throwing his hands up in defeat. "We're just not. Roger's not exactly in the position to have that with anyone right now, least of all me."

"If he could?" Mimi asked, emboldened a little by the liquor.

It made Mimi bold and Mark honest, apparently, because he shrugged and said, "Maybe. We kind of had a thing for awhile. But that's not it, believe me, I'm not here because I'm lusting fruitlessly over my best friend or some shit. It's just… all a little much, is all."

"You're a good guy, Mark," Mimi told him softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. She was setting the tone for things she expected to come, that much they both realized. She was also telling him exactly what she thought he must want to hear. "It's incredible, what you're doing for him. And if this Maureen – who sounds like a whore, by the way – if she doesn't see that, it's her loss."

Mark swallowed hard, but when he looked her in the eye he didn't start to stutter and blush. "Mimi…" he rasped, uncertainly. "You don't want this. You probably don't even want to be talking about this. You've just got this client-employee power structure thing stuck in your head, and…"

He didn't get any further; Mimi didn't let him. "Mark, shut the hell up," she interrupted quietly. "How's that for your power structure?" She turned her attention to the bartender when Mark stopped talking. "Put his tab on mine," was all she said before standing expectantly beside Mark's stool. It wasn't quite as generous a gesture as it seemed, she never paid her tab and likely never would, but it was well-meaning.

Mark looked at her blearily, seeming confused, and Mimi took the opportunity to really look at him. He didn't look his age, and his innate twitchiness didn't do much to help the impression, but beneath that, she decided, he was definitely nice enough to look at. He wasn't big, but he was lean – too much so, if anything – and Mimi knew for a fact he was a lot stronger than he seemed; she'd seen him haul things up to his loft that were bigger than him without assistance. Even feigned or impersonal and neighborly, he had a nice smile. Mimi would have liked to see it when it was sincere, there was a charm about him that would have captivated her if his eyes lit up and he laughed. Now Mark just seemed tired and drunk, but Mimi felt sorry for him, and though she thoroughly intended for him to end the night in her apartment, whether sex became involved or not would have to be his call. Mimi thought he seemed more like he needed to talk. Granted, to her experience, it was a rare man that wouldn't take advantage of the situation, but if she were picking people who seemed the sort, Mark would top the list. Then again, Mark wasn't really the type one met working in s strip club that mostly catered to businessmen and drunken artists. Not that Mark wasn't just that, but the sort who came to The Cat Scratch usually tended to be… well, a little more like Roger, she supposed.

But Mark was still staring dumbly; there was a questioning look in those big blue eyes now, and Mimi began to realize he might need a little help even knowing how to get back to their building. Well, there was her excuse, at any rate.

"Well come on," she said playfully. "You're not gonna make me walk home alone at this time of night, are you?" she teased.

"Oh," Mark said, and apparently he either didn't really mind leaving or he didn't mind leaving with her, because he leaned up towards the coat hanger beside his stool, bracing his hand on the bar and retrieving his scarf and coat. He managed his jacket, and he got on his scarf, but he'd thrown it around his neck haphazardly and it was tangled and absolutely useless as far as keeping him warm. Mimi drank the rest of his whisky and coke before turning and shaking her head.

"It's three in the morning in November. If you've got something to keep you warm, you should wear it right," she chided, before plucking it from about his neck and wrapping it around him in a rather more functional manner.

Mark exited the building before her, moving with surprising speed to catch her when her stiletto heel caught on the door and catapulted her forward. Mimi didn't even have time to realize she'd fallen before she became acutely aware of the position they were in, pressed closely together from shoulder to hip; she was still only upright mostly because Mark was holding her.

Mimi was far from drunk, at least compared to how she could be. Her condition wouldn't warrant even the slightest hangover. Her legs still ignored her command to find their strength, and she didn't understand why until she realized they were standing on a grate and her heel was too small to find purchase there. She looked helplessly up at Mark; there was no way to get out of this with any grace, not how he was holding her. Not how she was holding back, her fingertips slipping under his jacket and sweater and tracing around the small of his back. Mark caught her eye, a little pink, and cleared his throat.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice breathy from the cold air and still holding that telltale rasp of repressed desire. His eyes were dark and their energetic, innocent sparkle was gone. "Mimi…"

She shook her head and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, not giving him time to pull away or kiss back. "It's okay, Mark, we can stop pretending."

Mark didn't look like he'd been put off; he didn't even look surprised. He did look like he was still thinking far too hard about the situation, though. "Mimi, just because we were never close…" he stopped, his throat closing off with a noise of frustration. "You're still going to be like my next door neighbor. We're going to have to see each other after…"

"So?" Mimi challenged simply. "Let's just say it. It's just sex, Mark. It's two people getting what they can from the here and now. If you want to be friends… if you want to see what comes of this, that's okay. I like you. But there's nothing wrong here, Mark. Not as long as you know… Mark, with how this is going, I should tell you, I…"

Mark stared at her, and for a second Mimi feared rejection. Then he swallowed hard and said, "Yeah, I know. It doesn't need to be a big deal." It's because of Collins and Roger that Mark accepted Mimi's affliction so easily, but it's also what made him hurt when he thought that he was bringing yet another person he was inevitably going to lose into his life.

He forgot about the hurt when Mimi flashed him a bright smile – still that same one, and it had gone from haunting to beautiful this time – then leaned up to kiss him. Their still awkward position left Mimi practically sitting on his thigh and Mark supported wholly by the wall at his back, but their ardor had been loosed by both the drink and their previous conversation, and both of them were beyond caring. Mimi's hand was still at his back, shielding him somewhat from the wall, and she'd captured his lower lip between her own, nipping just hard enough to hurt then rubbing the spot with her tongue. Mark's breath caught in his throat and she withdrew a little, far enough that he caught her impish smirk before she bit at the small patch of exposed skin above his scarf. His hands tangled in her hair, and he pulled her hard against him. A frigid breeze blew by, cutting through both of their coats, and they stopped. Mark sucked uncomfortably at his own lower lip, trying to moisten it. It would only worsen the chapping, but it felt better while he was doing it.

Mimi climbed awkwardly off of him and tugged him away from the wall by the wrist. "We should get somewhere warmer," she decided, and even though Mark looked a little dazed he followed her. They got about a quarter-block up the street, walking in complete silence, before Mimi laughed and poked him in the chest.

"Oh, come on, you were talking to me before," she teased.

"Tongue tied," Mark shot back, and even though he smirked, there was no genuine humour to it.

Well, Mimi thought, we can't have that. She knew what she thought would help most, but talking Mark into shooting up after the year he'd had just wasn't going to happen. And, for once, she felt like she could wait. So she opted for something considerably milder. She pulled out a small purple and yellow glass pipe, about the size of her pinky, and filled it from a small bag in her pocket. "Pot?" she offered aloud, pulling out her lighter.

"Yeah, that'd be a great idea," Mark said sarcastically, exaggerating the weave in his step to make his point. Then he shrugged. "Oh, what the hell. Hit me."

Mimi hit his chest lightly with an open palm and giggled. Mark looked confused. It hadn't hurt, but his brain was still a little too foggy for the pun. Mimi laughed. "Never mind. Here, look: drugs."

Mark took the pipe from her and kept walking. He tried lighting it a few

Times before cursing and standing still. "My fucking fingers are too cold for this lighter," he complained. Mimi stopped beside him and cupped her hands around the bowl of the pipe. The lighter caught easily, and Mark breathed in deep. When he'd run out of lung power, Mimi took it and did the same.

Mark exhaled first, coughing once to clear his throat. Mimi followed shortly, tapping the ash onto the ground and filling the pipe again. She managed to light it herself.

Mark caught her eye and scoffed, "Showoff."

Mimi stuck out her tongue. In a slightly strained voice, with smoke curling out of her mouth, she replied, "Shut up and smoke weed."

Mark did, and they passed it back and forth another few times before Mimi emptied it again and put it back in her pocket. On an impulse, Mimi grabbed Mark's hand, folding his icy fingers under her own. Mark jumped at the initial contact, and then relaxed, weaving their fingers together.

"So…" he began, not knowing what to say.

"So…" Mimi mimicked, but she was still smiling up at him. "How's about you tell me about yourself, Mister…"

"Cohen," Mark provided. "How about you?"

"Mimi Marquez," she replied. "Cigarette?"

"Yeah, sure," Mark agreed. Mimi put a cigarette in her mouth, then offered one to Mark. He took it with the hand not holding hers, then produced a torch lighter from his pocket. He sparked it and it stayed lit easily, then he lit his cigarette and gave Mimi the lighter.

"What've you got that for if you don't smoke?" she asked curiously.

Mark took a long drag, probably for irony, then shrugged. "Stole it from Roger," he said, even though the idea that either of them had any possession other than the camera and guitar that was strictly their own felt a little foreign. But if anything else had been strictly Roger's, it was the lighter, because Mark had little use for it. Highly-powered as it was, it had been perfect for cooking up. "Hanging around the people I do, it's usually a good idea to have a lighter," he paused, frowning. "This is really weird. I've got that stoned tingling thing, I'm numb from cold, but it sort of feels warm."

"It's 'cause you started smoking cold," Mimi provided helpfully. "If you were warm when you did it you'd be fine now."

Mark frowned. "Well, that's… helpful."

Mimi shrugged. "Well, no big deal," she said, leading him into their building. "I have heat."

Mark laughed. "You do know you won't be able to get rid of me now, right?"

Mimi smiled. "Well, you live upstairs. As long as you get along with Angel when she's here, I don't really care if you wanna pop down now and then to stay warm." She grabbed the door and heaved it open. Mark laughed a little – the door outsized Mimi so much that, to his drug-addled mind, the contrast was funny. Sure enough, warmth rushed out to greet them, and Mark let out a long sigh of relief.

"God, it's cold out there," he said quietly, a frown starting to shape the corners of his mouth. "I hope Roger and Collins are doing okay."

"I'm sure they are," Mimi replied lightly. His concern for his friends may have been sweet, but as far as she was concerned this was neither the time nor the place for it. "Going without heat's not fun, but just about everyone who lives here knows how to do it."

"Yeah," Mark agreed hesitantly, still not sounding very convinced.

"Look, Mark," Mimi began patiently, "I know you mean well. But I promise, there's nothing you could do to help."

"Yeah," Mark repeated non-commitally. "Look, Mimi… It's not just you. You should know what you're getting into here, too. I really should tell you, I'm…"

"Not perfect," Mimi interrupted, stopping him with a fingertip against his lips before leaning in to give him another peck. "You're running yourself raw and you still think it's not good enough. It sounds like Roger's doing great; Maureen wasn't your fault… And even if I didn't know that, Mark, it's not hard to tell you've been trying hard."

Mark stared at her, startled. "Mimi…" he whispered.

Mimi shook her head, pivoting on her knees and straddling him. "Don't, Mark," she said softly. "Just let go, okay? Let yourself feel."

Mimi kissed him again. Mark began taking her advice at that exact moment, and the combination of that and his inebriation was enough to make his memories of that night stop there.

He remembered the next morning clearly enough, though. If he'll never tell anyone that that's his first real memory of Mimi, he still knows it and so does she. They woke up in a predictable position – both naked, with Mimi's head resting against his chest. Mark was still groggy, and his head hurt a little, but when he considered the hangover he probably should have had, the headache felt like a blessing. He didn't really want to wake Mimi, so he entertained himself by studying her room and gently working the knots from her hair. Soon, Mimi's nose wrinkled and she stirred with a small sound. A moment later, her eyes opened, inches from Mark's and staring into them unblinking.

"Hey," she said, smiling. She smirked sleepily. "How you feeling?"

Taking Mimi's lead, Mark kept his relaxed demeanor. "Better than I thought I would, actually," he replied cheerfully. "How about you?"

Mimi laughed. "I'm fine," she said brightly, leaning in to kiss him lightly. "I'm always fine. Except for…"

"You're shivering," Mark observed softly, pushing himself to a sitting position. Mimi rose with him and adjusted herself on his lap. She shook her head.

"It's just a little cold in here," she said dismissively, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him again, this time on the neck. "That's all."

Mark had no reason not to believe her, so he accepted it easily. "Oh," he stopped, looking unsure. "Mimi, are we…?"

"Do you want to be? Can you deal with my job?"

"Ha," Mark laughed. "Your job's just to tease. Maureen didn't even have that excuse, and I let her away with a lot more than that." There was no enmity towards Maureen or himself in the words, only a simple acceptance of fact. "I might have a problem if I didn't trust you, but if I'm going to start not trusting you then why even bother?"

Mimi nodded against his shoulder. "I think you get it," she said with satisfaction. "But Mark… I never even thought, but…"

Thinking he knew what she meant, he said distractedly, "We'd just have to be safe. Mimi…" he breathed warily. "Your skin's freezing and you're sweating. Are you sure you're all right?"

"That's the other thing… I…" Mimi hesitated. Suddenly, Mark's hand closed around her wrist and turned her forearm upwards. Knowing what he saw, Mimi's stomach dropped. Little scabs and scars that had clearly come from a needle. Mark dropped her hand, stiffening underneath her.

"I can't believe it," he muttered to himself, and Mimi could feel him begin to tremble a little. "I can't believe that when I told you what I did last night that you wouldn't tell me this."

"Mark… I…"

Mark shook his head, moving out from underneath her and perching on the edge of the bed, as far away as he could. "Don't lie. I've heard it all before, Mimi, remember? Roger got real good at hiding things, but you can't hide a fresh track."

"I wasn't going to," Mimi protested, sounding anguished. "Mark, for God's sakes! I've never had any reason to stop. When no one really cares, you might as well have fun however you can. I'm not… I'm can't make any promises, but if you really wanted…" What surprised Mimi most was her own sincerity. Maybe it wouldn't have lasted, but in that moment, if he'd promised to be there for her, she was entirely willing to try.

She didn't know it, but Roger had spoiled any chance of Mark believing her long ago. Physical withdrawal from heroin lasted three or four days intensely, though the depression could linger a long time and the mental addiction remained. Roger had been yo-yoing between being strung out and dopesick for almost a year. Eleven months, and he was just coming up on his first whole one sober. It was the first time he'd gone three weeks without ending up stricken by the killer-flu like symptoms of withdrawal. Mark got him through it every time without fail, when Roger's willpower had held long enough for the sickness to run its' course, but Roger had beaten the period of illness only to go back to the drugs one too many times. Mark had stopped believing him and started acting out of obligation.

It wasn't Mimi he didn't trust, not really. It was her addiction, which seemed at once part of her and separate.

"God," Mark muttered to himself, looking around on the floor for his discarded clothing. He found his jeans nearby with his boxers inside them and tugged them both on in a single fluid motion. He found and replaced his shirt and glasses in silence, but had to turn and look at Mimi before he left.

"Look, Mimi… I'm not saying I won't see you again," he said awkwardly. "I really like you, I just can't…"

Mimi's heart swelled with sympathy. She knew, deep down, that he was acting in his own best interest. But she had to do the same, and so she protected herself, seizing onto the low tide of anger she felt below the compassion. "Just go, Mark," she snapped. "Put whatever fucking face on it that makes you feel better and go back to your boyfriend."

Mark slumped miserably, his head hanging. "I'm sorry, Mimi," he whispered almost inaudibly on his way out the door.

Mark was long gone when Mimi reached into her nightstand and pulled out a needle, a small bag half-full of white powder, and a candle. Finding Mark's torch on the floor, she lit the candle with it, murmuring, "Yeah. Me too."


End file.
